


Regards from Hell

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon verse, Cuddles, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Saving, and sadness, happiness, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean was in hell, he didn't think he would be able to last very long without accepting Allistair's offer. But Castiel speaks to him, they grow closer as Cas repairs his soul.</p>
<p>Title creds: Starring Role, Marina and the Diamonds</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWWrokOWNrE&list=PLwk0302HsRndwVyaiZoV5SjjhMlJwmGl5">Fic Playlist</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regards from Hell

**Author's Note:**

> (The only non-canon compliant part of this is that Cas is already in Jimmy Novak's vessel)

Had it been months?

Years?

He knew it had been at least a year, Dean couldn’t tell exactly. The hooks on his shoulders were ripping through his skin again. He could see his blood dripping but he couldn’t tell which wound it was coming from. The skin on his chest was shredded, the only noise around him was the rattling of chains, and the occasional faint cry of a lost soul. Dean’s tears were dry, but the pain was endless.

He could feel the veins on his wrists being sliced into, blood running down his arm.

“BASTARDS.” His voice broke, his throat was like gravel. The blood around his mouth was crusted and dry and all his hope of ever leaving this place had dissolved a long time ago.

His body was limp, and if he were still in his body, he would be dead right now. But ripping into a soul and ripping into a body is very different, his soul could be repaired again and again and he could do nothing about it. He counted, sometimes, to pass the time. _You can do anything for a minute_. His mother had told him once. So he counted. _One, two, three, four…_

He gasped for breath, the air ripping at his throat. “SOMEBODY JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE.” A tear welled up in his eye. “Sammy…”

This was when the voice came for the first time. It was a whisper, soft, and sweet, and unlike anything else in this horrid place.

_“Dean.”_

It knew his name.

The voice was too calming for this place, too good. _This is a trick, this is a trick, this is a trick, this is-_

_“No it isn’t. My name is Castiel, I’m an angel of the lord.”_

Dean’s stomach lurched, blood made it’s way to his throat. He coughed a few times and spit into the abyss.

“Cas-Castiel.” He rasped out, the pain was too much. It would be over soon, he knew, and then Allistair would come to make his offer. 

He could feel his heart, frantic in his chest, trying to keep him alive. It was a hopeless cause, Dean knew. He felt a knife peeling away the skin on his arm, _damn demons._ They were merciless when it came to torture. He knew Alistair would be coming soon, to make his offer.

_“I’m coming for you. Be patient.”_

And Dean was whole again, just like every other day.

Dean closed his eyes “Castiel.” He breathed. He could hear Alistair’s footsteps, walking closer until the demon was standing right beside him.

When Dean opened his eyes, Alistair was glaring down at him. “Are you ready to make a deal? You torture them, and we won’t torture you.”

Dean spit out another gob of blood. “Fuck you.”

“Fine.” He waved at the air. “Begin the torture again.”

~~~

Years passed, but not a day went by without at least a simple hello from Castiel. On the worst of days, Dean was comforted by the angel who updated him on his plans for rescue, who whispered so softly and so kindly that he could almost forget the pain.

The ten year mark came and went, and the blood was constant. Dean felt he almost couldn’t remember a time before pain.

_Endless, blissful pain._

And every day, Allistair made him the same deal. “You torture them, we won’t torture you.”

And every day Dean told him to “Suck it. The day I work for you is the day your demons go to heaven.”

So Dean survived. Each day, his soul was torn apart again and again and again, each time worse than the last.

_“Hello, Dean.”_

Every day, that voice, that familiar voice, came to him. The voice of an angel. And sometimes he cried, or screamed, or begged for Castiel to “Just end it all now.” 

But Castiel comforted him, he tried his best to assure Dean that the pathway from Heaven to hell was a long and dangerous road, and that he would be saved, and for years Dean believed him. 

For years, Dean endured the pain. He let them rip through him however much they wanted because he knew his angel was coming. _Castiel will come for me. Someday this will be over._

Twenty years. Dean wasn’t counting, but it had to be at least twenty years.

He sobbed as Allistair stood over him that day. _“Do we have a deal, Dean?”_

He spit out a glob of spit and blood. “Never.”

~~~

_“Dean.”_

>

Dean closed his eyes. “Cas.”

“Dean please. You can’t do this.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and past his chin. He was standing on his feet for the first time in thirty years. “You’re just a voice in my head.” His voice cracked, his throat was always dry, his face always covered in dried blood.

_“Dean I swear to you. I’m coming to get you. You will be saved.”_

“You’ve been saying that for years.”

_“Dean-”_

_Goodbye, Cas._ Dean thought. Allistair walked into the room and smirked.

“Who would you like to destroy first?”

~~~

There was blood under his fingernails. There was always blood under his fingernails these days. He had knives and chains and spikes and nails, but he still got blood on his hands. Dean wondered where Cas was, sometimes. The angel never spoke to him anymore, Dean sometimes pretended that Cas was still coming to save him. He liked to think that maybe, someday, he would see Sam again. 

Sometimes he tried to talk to Cas, but he never got a reply. He screamed into the emptiness that if Cas was going to save him, he would be walking the earth right now.

Dean looked away from his hands and walked down towards the next soul. He closed his eyes as the man screamed. He screamed for his family, for his children and his wife, but Dean snipped and spliced and tore into his broken body until there was nothing left. And then he moved on. New soul, more torture.

He was okay. No more pain, no more torture. _Just the broken shell of a man who used to be sane._

“Hello, Dean.”

_That voice._

Dean turned on his heel to see a man, he was wearing a ratty trench coat and scuffed up shoes, but he was standing in front of Dean looking at him as if he were the only thing in the world. 

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes for the first time in years, and he let out a small noise. He didn’t know if it was relief, or joy, or sadness. All he knew was that this man was 

“Cas.” His voice was rough. 

The man furrowed his brow and nodded.

Dean ran towards him and hugged him like he was family. Like they had known each other for a lifetime. Because he loved this angel, this angel who he had abandoned hope of all those years ago, this angel who was _here._ Cas was going to save him.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

Dean buried his face in the fabric of Cas’s coat, breathing in the smell. It didn’t smell the way hell did. It smelled new, and sweet, and _perfect._ It smelled exactly how an angel should smell. 

Like fresh honey, and all of his best memories. Like the shampoo his mother used to use, and like everything good in the world. Castiel. He could finally put a face to the name. 

Dean pulled away. 

“Castiel. _My angel._ ” Dean whispered. He smiled, maybe for the first time in almost forty years. _“Thank you.”_

“Dean, we have to go.” Cas grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his chest, crossing his arms over Dean’s torso. “Just be calm. I’m going to get you out of here.”

~~~

Dean didn’t remember much of their travel out of hell. Wind rushing in his ears, a burning on his arms where Cas’s hands were holding him, distant yells. But when Dean woke up, he wasn’t on earth.

He was _definitely_ not on earth. 

The room he was in was large, the walls were white, the floor was tile, and it would have been empty if not for the chairs and couches lining the walls. _Is this heaven?_

Cas was there, sitting beside him, his hand on Dean’s arm.

They were on a couch, Dean lying with his head on a pillow, almost on top of Cas’s leg, Cas stroking his thumb over Dean’s upper arm. Dean decided to stay quiet, if Cas knew he was awake he might move away, and his touch was comforting. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Cas said, looking down.

“What?” Dean started to sit up, Cas moved his hand away.

“When a claim is made on a soul it leaves a brand....a mark.” Dean moved closer to Cas, he was warm, it was nice. “When I dragged you out of the pit, my mark was left on your arm.”

Dean lifted up the sleeve of his shirt to see a handmark, right where Cas had held him. It was red and inflamed, and he could tell that it would scar. 

“It will never fully heal.”

“That’s okay.” Dean shrugged and leaned his head onto Cas’s shoulder, “It will remind me of you.” 

“Dean your soul is badly damaged.”

Dean nodded. _Physical contact._ He hadn’t had any sort of physical contact with any person for _forty years._ He was suddenly hyper-aware of his arm overlapping with Cas’s. Of his neck, his chin, his head, leaning on Cas. Trusting him. “Can you fix it?” He whispered. 

“Yes. It will be dangerous.”

“I trust you. Completely.”

“You have no reason to. I should have saved you sooner.”

“If you could have, you would have. Cas, I’ve known you for forty years. Did I think I was crazy because I was friends with the voice inside my head? Yup, absolutely. Did I still always believe you would come for me? Yes. Deep down, I knew you would be there. My angel, my savior.”

Cas pulled him closer, putting his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

~~~

Dean was falling. Not through air, or hell, or heaven, his soul was falling. It was traveling back towards his body, and all he could think was: _I’ve forgotten something. Something very important. Someone I loved, I’ve forgotten someone I loved. Who? When? When did I get out of hell? Who did I love?_

Before his soul reached his body, he heard four words. Four words in the clearest, most beautiful voice. A voice that tasted like honey, and rosemary shampoo. 

_“DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! If you did, a comment would be great :) If you don't want to comment, there's a kudos button. If you didn't like it, comment about why you didn't like it. I love critique :D


End file.
